


take me to the stars

by shoutz



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Drinking, Fluff, Frat Boy Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sheith Secret Santa 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-24 14:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17102486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoutz/pseuds/shoutz
Summary: Alcohol, repressed feelings, finals, hot boys. That's College Babe!“I wouldn’t touch your chemistry metal playlist with a ten-foot pole if you paid me a million dollars to do it," Shiro says. "Your physics pop playlist is good, though. I listen to that in the car sometimes.”Keith has to make a concentrated effort not to imagine Shiro in his car singing along toCut To The Feeling.It’s hard. “We all have our coping mechanisms. Mine is trashy metal, yours is…well, being so naturally flawless that your professors would have to manually change your answers to justify giving you anything other than a perfect score.”





	take me to the stars

**Author's Note:**

> One of two Sheith Secret Santa pieces for Anon 1! I couldn't decide which prompt to do so I went with two of them. Hope you enjoy and happy holidays xoxo
> 
> Title from [Cut To The Feeling](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qlsu7RhOnsQ)
> 
>  
> 
> [Link to the second piece](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17188409)

_DIG THROUGH THE DITCHES—_

_Carboxylic acids, esters, amines— no, fuck, was it amides?_

_AND BURN THROUGH THE WITCHES—_

_Jesus, what even is the difference? A letter? Does it even matter?_

_AND SLAM IN THE BACK OF MY—_

“Keith?”

_Yes, of course it fucking matters, everything matters in this class—_

“ _Keith_.”

Keith jolts and looks up. Shiro stands over him, two paper cups in hand, wearing a smile that makes Keith feel like he’s standing outside on a sunny summer day. Instead, regrettably, he’s holed up in the library in mid-December tearing through three months’ worth of notes for the most difficult — and arguably pointless — class he’s ever taken in his life. Shiro’s wrapped up in a cozy military-green parka with his fraternity letters emblazoned on the sleeve, a light dusting of snow still clinging to the fur lining the hood. White hair flops against his forehead beneath his beanie, and his cheeks and nose are a healthy pink from the cold outside.

Keith makes a concentrated effort to not drool.

Instead, he smiles back and takes out his headphones, setting them aside. He can still hear the heavy guitar and Rob Zombie’s dulcet tones making their tinny noises through the small speakers, until he rips the cord out of its jack in partial embarrassment.

 _“Dragula_ _?”_ Shiro takes the seat next to Keith, sets one of the coffee cups gently on top of an errant stack of papers. Keith, welcoming the distraction, stacks his notebooks and binders to the side and shoves his bag on the floor to make room. “I thought we talked about this; if you’re going to blow out your eardrums, at least let it be to something with more merit than Rob Zombie.”

A smirk pulls at the corner of Keith’s mouth, and he lets it show teeth. “You missed _Bat Country_. I know that one’s your favorite.” Shiro rolls his eyes and chuckles as he takes off his jacket, and Keith tries not to let his eyes linger on the black Henley that’s on just the right side of too tight, stretched across his chest and broad shoulders. “ _Can’t you help me as I’m startin’ to burn?_ ” Keith mock-sings, nasally voice and all. It gets them a few choice looks from others trying to study for their finals nearby, but Keith has no spare attention to give them. Shiro’s chuckle turns into a full-blown laugh, made of starshine and puppies and sunsets over the ocean, and Keith feels his cheeks and ears grow warm without having touched his coffee yet.

“I wouldn’t touch your chemistry metal playlist with a ten-foot pole if you paid me a million dollars to do it.” Keith chuckles as he picks up the drink. He knows Shiro got his usual, the fucking sweetheart he is, but in all honesty Keith would drink anything hot in a coffee cup at this point. All the caffeine and sugar in the library’s Starbucks wouldn’t stop him from feeling the heavy weight of pre-finals exhaustion. “Your physics pop playlist is good, though. I listen to that in the car sometimes.”

Keith has to make a concentrated effort not to imagine Shiro in his car singing along to _Cut To The Feeling_. It’s hard. “We all have our coping mechanisms. Mine is trashy metal, yours is…well, being so naturally flawless that your professors would have to manually change your answers to justify giving you anything other than a perfect score.”

Shiro laughs again, but there’s a little bit of pink high on his cheeks unrelated to the cold outside and he won’t meet Keith’s eye. “Come on. I’m not infallible,” he says as Keith noisily slurps his coffee, drowning out his words. “I said—” _Sluuuurp._ Shiro sighs, exasperated, but he’s grinning. “Hey, you’re not listening to me.”

“I don’t know where you got that idea,” Keith replies, licking his lips. He smirks, cheeky. “This coffee is so good. What were you saying? Something about being infallible?”

In lieu of an answer, Shiro rolls his eyes. “Funny.” He glances down, shifts through some of Keith’s papers. “O-chem tomorrow?”

Keith lets loose a long-suffering sigh and drops his head to the table with a _thunk_. “I don’t get why an astrophysics major needs to know anything about aromatic reactions or electron pushing mechanisms, but Dr. Parham seems to think it’s the most important thing any of us has to know. Ever. In the history of all the things that can _possibly_ be known.”

“Dr. Parham is so nice though. She has office hours almost all the time, and she's always willing to answer questions,” Shiro says as he straightens out a stack of diagrams on alkene reactions, mixed with a three-page chart of reagents and their effects, setting them a careful distance from their coffee cups. So thoughtful. “Plus chemistry is really important, even for astronauts.”

“Easy for you to say,” Keith mumbles from behind his cup. “I don’t wanna think about it. The holiday party is this weekend, right?”

As if he hadn’t been looking forward to it the entire month of December and most of November. As if he hadn’t skipped class to shop for ugly sweaters with Shiro. But Shiro nods, and smiles, and Keith feels a year add itself onto his lifespan.

The rest of their conversation floats aloft on caffeine and procrastination and the joy of good company.

Keith has no intention to study for his final anymore but pointedly refuses to pack his things. Stowing his notes would imply a conclusion to his study session, and thus his library session, and _thus_ his time with Shiro. Giving that up, especially considering their independently hectic schedules, is unthinkable. He counts his blessings to have even this time with him, no matter how late it is nor how many dirty looks get thrown their way for laughing too loud in a library.

 _We’re on the first floor,_ he justifies, and more importantly, _I deserve this_.

This meaning time spent with Shiro, the 6’3” dreamboat he’s been crushing on since he first laid eyes on him at that fateful frat party. In fact, the same annual frat party they’re both attending tomorrow night, clad in ugly sweaters and optional red Santa hats. It’s the traditional attire, the only acceptable dress code for a party so close to the winter holidays. They had gone on an almost-date last weekend to shop for new sweaters. Keith really didn’t need to, he could have worn the same one as last year, but Shiro had lost his after drunkenly taking it off at some point during the night.

Once he had seen that, Keith knew God was real.

They had hit it off once Shiro was drunk enough to approach him, by some miracle. Guys like Shiro don’t approach guys like Keith, but the stars had aligned that night. Keith had been gathering his nerve throughout the entire party, standing by the far wall and preparing himself with vodka and asking _what would Lance do_ , but he was beat to the punch. A — no, _the_ — tall and handsome stranger walked over with a blinding smile, and the rest is history.

Keith isn’t about to tell Shiro about the monster crush he’s been fostering since that night, though. He’d be remiss to ruin what they have now with an awkward conversation and unrequited feelings.

But sometimes, _sometimes_ , Keith sees Shiro watching him out of the corner of his eye, wearing this smile that’s impossibly soft, and wonders if they’re really unrequited.

They part ways that night once they outstay their welcome in the library with the promise of texting later. The snow had stopped falling by then, but the campus walkways were still dusted with white that sparkled beneath the streetlights. Shiro offers to walk him back to his apartment, but it’s in the opposite direction of the frat house and Keith doesn’t want him trudging through the snow covering the ground any more than he absolutely has to. He doesn’t really want to walk back to his apartment either, especially not alone when he could be with Shiro instead, but beggars can’t be choosers and they’re not close enough for Shiro to invite him over for the night. Much to Keith’s dismay.

Keith, after finishing the remainder of his outline in the privacy of his own apartment, crushes his organic chemistry final the next morning. It’s surprising, since Shiro had made good on his promise to text Keith, starting a conversation that would last far into the night, eventually making the transition from text to phone call. They talked of everything and nothing as Keith outlined his notes, enough so that their conversation makes its way into the margins of his notebook, little notes and doodles about their mutual friends and tv shows and whatever else they had talked about. But, it's over, and he passed with flying colors and never has to think about Grignard reactions again.

That night finds Keith in his Good Jeans, the ones that Lance says make his ass “pop,” and his new ugly sweater: red and green, with a gold ribbon tied on the front and a gift tag that says _from: me, to: you_. Shiro had insisted, and coupled with Keith’s unwillingness to wear something more gaudy, it was perfect.

He crosses the threshold to the frat house at 10:30 because Lance had spent twenty extra minutes fretting over the batteries for the lights in his _let’s get lit_ sweater, which probably would have been only five if he had done it before his extensive pregaming and skincare ritual instead of after. The foyer and living room are both packed with people, but after waving at Hunk and Pidge in the middle of their tense game of flip cup, they manage to push their way through to the bar and snag some drinks.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Lance comments over the lip of his half-empty beer bottle, “You’re usually stuck to him like a magnet.”

There’s no secret as to who _him_ refers to. Keith rolls his eyes. “Uh huh,” he responds drily. “Have you seen Allura?”

Lance’s cheeks turn red, and he slinks off mumbling something about _probably with Romelle somewhere,_ leaving Keith alone among the throng of people.

It doesn’t take long to see Shiro in this crowd. As an Adonis in a sea of frat wannabe’s, he sticks out, and Lance wasn’t quite wrong in that Keith is drawn to him as if he has his own gravitational pull. He spots him with Matt and a gaggle of their frat brothers mixed with some people from the astrophysics department, and Keith can’t help the way his heart rate picks up. He’s in the middle of a belly laugh over his mixed drink, sloshing it around in his cup. The red Santa hat on his head almost falls off, but somehow it stays on, lopsided but still so cute. Why does he have to look so good in everything?

Keith looks away, embarrassed, and finishes his drink as his ears burn. He turns back to the bar and sets off to mix something stronger.

He’s almost done making a Vodka Monstrosity when a large, warm hand finds its home on his shoulder.

“Hey, glad you made it,” Shiro says to Keith’s smile, as if there was any possibility he would skip this. He turns and gives Shiro a one-armed hug, then pulls back to admire his sweater: an almost-too-small green number with two mittens over his pecs, big block letters underneath reading _Tits The Season_. It’s fitting, considering last year’s fiasco, and Keith doesn’t admit to himself that he wants it to happen again.

“Yeah, of course,” Keith says. Shiro is still lingering close, smelling like citrus juice and alcohol and whatever cologne he uses to make himself attractive to not only four, but all five senses.

“I like your sweater,” Shiro remarks, tugging at the gold ribbon on his chest as if he hadn’t been there when Keith bought it. As if he hadn't picked it out for Keith specifically. “You wanna head outside? It’s a little cramped in here.” Keith nods, and they navigate through the crowd and out to the front porch.

It’s still pretty cold outside, but they have alcohol and each other to keep warm. The night is clear; most of the clouds from yesterday’s snow storm had disappeared overnight, but it stayed cold enough that the snow didn’t melt completely. Stars shine above and Keith can’t help but stare up at them, drunkenly wondering if he’ll ever make it up there. He looks to Shiro, then, and thinks that dreams might actually come true after all.

Who knew?

Most of the partygoers are still inside to avoid the cold, save for the few people bumming smokes and chatting in the driveway. The two of them lean against the porch railing with their drinks, looking out at the lawn. The rainbow Christmas lights covering the shrubs and trees cast an indigo light that catches in Shiro’s hair, and Keith finds himself unable to look away. Until, of course, Shiro catches him staring and smiles, and embarrassment returns his eyes to the lights around them.

“It’s been a good year,” Shiro says, out of nowhere. Keith looks at him, raises an eyebrow and waits for him to continue. “Since we met, I mean.”

Now it’s Shiro’s turn to break eye contact, and Keith’s turn to smile. Alcohol softens his edges, renders him vulnerable to Shiro’s innate, unintended (or perhaps intended) charm. He’s suddenly hit with all the awe and admiration accumulated throughout the long year he’s been harboring this crush. From that first holiday party through to spring break, from the summer beach trips and the return to campus in the fall… And all of it spent in the company of the most incredible and inspiring — not to mention devastatingly attractive — man Keith has ever had the pleasure to meet.

“Yeah,” Keith says, eloquent.

“It was at this party, too.”

Keith chuckles, then, reminiscing. “Last year, where you got so plastered you took off your sweater and did a keg stand in a foot of snow.”

Shiro takes a long drink from his cup while Keith laughs and tries not to stare at his throat as it bobs up and down.  “Hey, come on, someone totally stole it. Nothing to be done.”

“I bet Matt did it,” Keith says, and takes a drink.

“What? No, he was holding my legs in the keg stand, wasn’t he?” Keith raises his eyebrows as he finishes his drink, points at himself. “You… Wait. You?”

Keith laughs again, heedless of the smokers heading back inside behind them. Once he finally recovers he looks at Shiro, and for a fraction of a second he sees an impossibly soft look, something that makes Keith wonder if this is real, or if he’s just that drunk. It’s gone as quickly as it had come, though, as Shiro averts his eyes to the stars with something like wistfulness. Keith doesn’t look away, this time. He takes a moment to appreciate the sight — his sculpted jaw, his neck, the sparkle in his eye.

 _I’m so lucky,_ he thinks.

Shiro turns, then, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline as his beautiful eyes widen in surprise.

“Wh— uh, excuse me?” Shiro sputters, and Keith’s smile falters.

“Did, uh,” he starts, fearing the answer, “Did I say that out loud?” Shiro nods, and Keith lowers his head into his hands. His face grows hot and he sends a silent plea to the powers above that the ground will open up and swallow him whole, so he can plummet endlessly into the fiery depths of hell.

Until Shiro starts laughing, and sets a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Y’know, I was just thinking the same thing.”

Keith peeks up at Shiro, and his smile is dazzling. He’s closer now, close enough that his warmth radiates into Keith’s space and if he just stood on his tiptoes, they’d be nose to nose, chest to chest. Shiro’s cheeks are pink from the alcohol, or maybe just from the cold, but Keith’s heart swells where it sits in his chest. A year of pining, of stolen glances and Keith’s imagination… After all this time, it’s almost unthinkable that his feelings are reciprocated. What Pidge had called his _hopeless crush_ doesn’t seem so hopeless anymore. Hopeless, maybe for his inability to concentrate on anything else in the room if Shiro is in it, or for his inability to get over the World’s Most Perfect Man actually wanting to spend time with him, but certainly not hopelessly unrequited.

“Really?” he asks, incredulous.

Shiro nods, and smiles that blinding smile. It’s soft around the edges, like he had been before when he thought Keith wasn’t looking — but this time he _is_ looking, he sees it clear as day illuminated by the colorful lights around them, and Shiro doesn’t look away. “I’m really glad to have met you, Keith. You mean a lot to me.”

Keith holds his gaze, smiling. “I like you a lot, Shiro. I’m glad you decided to talk to me last year.”

Shiro licks his lips and his eyes flit down to Keith's for a brief moment, but Keith recognizes the hint for what it is. Shiro looks back up, asks “Can I k—” before Keith raises up on his toes and wraps his arms around Shiro’s neck and presses their lips together. Shiro is stunned for a moment, but eventually returns the kiss and places his (very big, strong) hands on Keith’s hips.

Unsurprisingly, it’s everything Keith dreamed of and more. It’s fireworks and butterflies and every cliche he’s ever read or watched, all rolled up into one perfect moment, illuminated by decorative lights and the stars and the warmth of alcohol in their systems. The biting cold, the noise of the party, the lingering smoke all disappear in favor of Shiro: his lips, his hands, his warmth.

They pull apart too soon for Keith’s drunken tastes, but they remain in each other’s space for a lingering moment, sharing breaths and smiling wide. Shiro’s arms around his waist are warm, firm. Keith wonders what it’s like being picked up by them. He knows Shiro can do it, Keith’s seen his workout routine. Would he bridal carry? Would he let Keith ride on his shoulders? Could he hold Keith up while he—

“Wanna get coffee sometime?” Keith asks through his half-moon grin, picking absently at one of the mittens sewn to Shiro’s chest.

Shiro's chuckle rumbles through Keith's chest where they're pressed together. “We already do that.”

“Yeah, but like, romantically?”

He laughs again, pulls Keith closer. The warmth spreads through the two of them, and Keith feels so happy and light that he might float away if Shiro were to let go.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> and then they [redacted]
> 
> come be my friend @ shoutzwastaken on [tumblr](http://shoutzwastaken.tumblr.com) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/shoutzwastaken)


End file.
